Lucas and Morgan: The Epic Continues Forum Among Monsters

NinaNoir

Among Monsters 6 Years Ago Upon the walls of the Angel City underground station was a banner that boasted "See, you looked! Our advertising works!", and to the original owners it must have seemed a clever strategy to sell coveted billboard space. Its faded font, yellowed wrinkling watermarks, and peeling bottom spoke to the amount of time and passengers that it had seen since its hanging several years prior. And yet, not a soul had ever seen the banner. No one had stopped to consider buying the advertising space, nor had anyone reflected on the general effectiveness of banners at all. Its once bold red letters were now faded almost pink, and the bottom corners were almost completely peeled away from where passersby had brushed clumsily against it and never given a second glance on their rushed way out. It was utterly, in a word, ignored.  Much like the poor banner, the young man walking past was likewise easy to ignore. His straw colored hair was neither stylishly messy, nor was it carefully combed, his features on their own individually pleasant but his overall appearance not particularly worthy of note. His white shirt sat loosely on his shoulders, giving away neither muscle or belly fat, and he had slung one bag over one shoulder that didn't quite meet the description for brown or grey. His eyes, though blue, were clouded with everyday worry, yet his gait was stubbornly lacking in speed. Like the banner, several people managed to bump past him on their way to better things, yet no one seemed to notice him on their hurried way, or turned to give a glance in his direction. For his part, he hardly seemed to mind. Eric was, recently, finding himself without purpose. If anyone had wanted to ask, most of his personal possessions were in that nondescript bag, small as it was, and he had no job or family to scurry back to. Not anymore, anyway. Eric had lived in a suburb outside of Angel City all his life, and yet had only come to the city a handful of times in his life. Before a few weeks ago he would have hardly considered it. Angel City was filthy, not a little bit dangerous, and quite rapidly being swallowed by the coastline it sat on. Every year the ocean threatened to completely conquer the city, reclaiming it as some sort of sinful Atlantis, or a watery Gamora. The seasonal storms rose the seas to risky levels, and sinking buildings only hastened the inevitable. And yet the city soldiered on in the usual way. Dingy corner stores sold glassware and offbrand cigarettes, boomboxes crackled on the street corners as barely dressed women clicked to and from waiting cars, and open windows released screams into the cacophonous night air. It's really no surprise that Eric had never wanted to come, but here he was. He was still debating the soundness of the decision. Passing outside the station turnstile and into the choked evening air, he found himself aimless and milled in the direction of traffic. The buildings he passed were old and crumbling, art deco skyscrapers leaning overhead as if whispering to each other while smaller brick buildings huddled conspiratorially nearby. The sidewalks cracked, fell apart, and rejoined again as he walked down the long streets, the locals eyeing him with growing distaste. Eventually the buildings parted with an almost uncharacteristic respect, and Eric found himself in the wharf district, the smog clogged air being replaced with the scent of fish and oil. Crowned by the bowing skyscrapers was the jewel of the decrepit city: to the locals she was called The Fates, which marked the destinies of the local fishermen (and smugglers) in the port of Angel City. The Lighthouse was incredibly tall, its light inescapible for miles, but it's actual form was a coldly plain white. Its base was encased in strong concrete a distance from the docks, yet it's statued top was easily visible from where Eric found himself standing. The three forms were draped in expertly carved robes and lichen, each distinct in their differences as they stood into the lighthouse just below the glass covered top. The first, facing towards the sea, held the guise of a young girl, her face warily smiling from a frame of curls. Facing the black cliffs that jagged into the side of the city opposite stooped the crone, a skeletoned spectre warning sailors of the danger lurking on the coast with a cloth wrapped, bony finger. The third statue, however, held the most foreboding stare. The "Mother of Angel City", she watched with sad eyes from her place facing the shore. She seemed to see the evil of the city, yet was only capable to helplessly watch on. Her hair was wreathed in marbled cloth, which over time had allowed the elements to drip onto her cheeks. The effect was haunting, with stains running past her eyes giving the visage of endless crying. She stood with her arm outstretched to the city, a silent plea that continued to go unheard. Eric half wondered if these statues really could see their fate, and if so if they could see his. It was his first impression of the city, and it stuck with him well past the first shiver he tried to shake off. Eventually he found his path crossing the older part of town, his steps reluctantly brushing past trash and old newspapers. He paused for a moment to tie his worn sneakers, and looked up to realize that the building he was kneeling in front of was, or at least had been, a nightclub. Had he not needed to tie his shoes he might not have seen the "help wanted" sign carelessly hung in the grimy window, but as it was he took it as a fateful omen, adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and went inside. The interior of the building could not have been further in appearance from the grimy facade outside. While it still had the aged look of a establishment past its heyday, the wood was well polished, the thin carpet was clean, and the glass sparkled from the shining shelves of the bar. The room rose up on opposite sides of the floor in a curved oval towards the bar, and was lined with worn emerald toned booths. At the center a dancefloor shone despite several deep scratches, and what appeared to Eric to be a bullethole slightly off center. Overall the club spoke of old world charm, and yet it sat surprisingly empty. Eric took another few steps inside before he felt a presence join him. He turned and saw an older man exit from the coat check behind him. Although he was smaller in stature, he had the look of a man that had been tough in his day. He wore a formal vest and tie, but kept his sleeves rolled to his elbows, which gave him an air of someone who ran the place. He wore a diamond ring on his pinky, but otherwise was accessorized only by a prominent mustache and a curious burn mark on his right hand. "We're closed, if you don't mind," the older man said, his hand already waving Eric back towards the door. He seemed preoccupied, his eyes flicking back and forth to a door past the bar as he stepped to see Eric out. "I'm here to ask after the job?" Eric interjected, sticking his thumb towards the sign behind him. The man eyed Eric's hands, then nodded. "You got the job. Show up on time, and you can keep it. Come back tomorrow at 11." He continued to push Eric to the door, despite his protestations. "What is the job, exactly?" Eric asked, trying to delay this man booting him from his club. "I said come back tomorrow and-" As the old man tried to shoo him away, the door near the bar opened, revealing a conference room where several people were beginning to exit into the club. The man kept one hand on Eric's shoulder as they did so, whether to protect or hold him there Eric couldn't tell. Several men in suits walked through the door before a middle aged woman also stepped through the threshold, her face calculating and ruthless even as they fixed on the two men near the door. She took deliberate, confident steps towards them, here gaze looking through Eric to the old man. "Mr. Delucio, I was under the impression I would have the establishment to myself." "Just hiring new help, Ms. Hansard." The old man replied, his grip surpringly strong on Eric's taller shoulder. Ms. Hansard looked at Eric's hands, then his face with a smile. "I look forward to doing business with you." She said with a foxish glare, then headed towards the door held open for her by one suited man. For a moment, the club was silent again. Delucio let out a breath, gave Eric a pat on the back, and loosened his tie. "Good boy. Do yourself a favor and have that be the most you ever talk to Ms. Hansard. She makes me miss even Ms. Black sometimes." He said with a chuckle, and turned towards the coat check again. "I have no clue what you mean, but I need a job." Eric said, following. "You're not from around here." The old man stated. "That's good. Don't borrow money and you'll have a good job here. You'll be bussing, checking coats, and dishwashing when called for. Do a good job and I'll look at making you a bartender, that's where the money's at. God I hate Wednesdays." The man pulled out a bottle from behind the counter and poured himself a glass. "Good tips for an easy job is best, I find. Just keep your mouth shut. What's your name?" He took a healthy swig of his glass and gave Eric a good up and down. "Eric Julian." "Good, good. My name is Tommy, you can call me Mr. Delucio. We provide the uniform, so no need to worry about that. I'll be hiring you off the books, so don't ask for a form. Do you live in the city or are you looking for a place?" Delucio had an appraising eye, and he had read Eric well. He nodded before Eric had answered with an "I will soon". "I don't know you from Adam, so don't ask me for a place to stay. Across the street there's a hotel, tell them Tommy sent you and they'll give you a discount. I'll see you tomorrow at 11." The man was disengaged just as quickly as he had been interested, and Eric was ignored again to find his own way out. Had he stayed a few minutes longer, he would have seen the embarrassed form of a man tightly grasping his hand creep out from the back room.